


Drunk Dialing with the Floyd Boys

by GreatGawain



Series: The Adventures of Pink Floyd [4]
Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Gen, Not Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatGawain/pseuds/GreatGawain
Summary: The boys get dead drunk and call each other about stupid things
Series: The Adventures of Pink Floyd [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772323
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Drunk Dialing with the Floyd Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know in the comments whose story was your favorite!

One evening David was scrubbing a particularly stubborn pan in the sink, cursing himself for having forgotten earlier to deglaze the pot while attempting a recipe for French onion soup, when he suddenly paused; he could’ve sworn the telephone had just rung. Hearing nothing, he resumed his laborious task with a shrug. The steel bristled scrubber slipped out of his hand and fell with a clatter into the sink and as he reached for it, he froze in place, once again wondering if he had heard ringing again. But, of course, the house was silent. “Hmmm…” He furrowed his brow and turned his attention to the dishes once more, but this time working at the burnt mess as quietly as he could.  
“I knew it,” he declared to himself as ringing filled the air. Plucking a dish towel off the oven door, he dried the suds from his hands before picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”  
“Oh! Hello David! What can I do for you?”  
“…You called ME.”  
“Oh yeah.” David rolled his eyes: he could practically smell the alcohol on Richard’s breath through the phone.  
“Oh, I was gonna tell you, uh, I’m having a party right now for Jules’ birthday and there’s a _ton_ of people here and it’s going fantastically and we just did body shots off one of her friends and then I was talking to a friend of hers, not the one we did shots off, a different one, uh, and I was talking to him and he just told us this absolutely _brilliant_ joke and I thought to myself, um, ‘Wow, I have got to ring David and tell it to him, he’ll love it,’ and so would you like to hear a joke?”  
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. In contrast to his normally shy and reserved personality, Richard was known for throwing quite the wild house party. And once the man got enough drinks in him it was next to impossible to get him to stop talking.

“Sure Rick, what is it?”  
“Ok, uh, hang on, I forgot it.”  
David put his head in his free hand.  
“Oh! Right, ok, so the joke is: Knock knock!”  
“Good Christ. Who’s there?”  
“You’re in the.” He could hear poorly suppressed giggling coming from the other end of the line.  
“You’re in the who?”  
“No, I’m in Pink Floyd!”  
He barely got the punchline out in time before he started cackling into an unamused David’s ear. The guitarist patiently waited for his friend to catch his breath, which took far longer than it should have.

“That’s quite the joke.”  
“I about pissed myself when he told us that! Wasn’t that the best joke you’ve ever heard?”  
“It was hilarious.”  
“Ok Davie, I’m gonna go now, we’re about to see who can shotgun a beer the fastest. I’ll see you tomorrow! Byeeeee!”  
“Goodbye Rick.” Before he hung up his own phone, he could hear Richard was having a very difficult time trying to put his receiver back on the cradle. The call officially over, he sighed again and sat back in his chair. “We certainly are going to see the best of you tomorrow, aren’t we?” He chuckled lightly to himself before getting up to turn in for the evening, happy to let the still-dirty dishes soak overnight instead.

~~~

“I’m coming I’m _coming,_ damn it,” Nick grumbled as he reluctantly got up from the kitchen table to head for the ringing telephone. He had only just sat down to eat a late, hastily-made dinner, delayed by fault of his car refusing to start on his trip back from the market. Wiping his hands on a tea towel, he grabbed the phone off the wall caddy and didn’t even have time to properly answer it before he was interrupted.  
“Hel-”  
“NICK! Thank God you’re still up, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t answered…”  
He was alarmed to hear what he thought was Roger sniffling from the other end. “Yeah, just about to have dinner. Rog, are you _crying?_ Is everything alright?”  
“NO, everything is not alright, I’m in shambles!”  
Nick tightened his grip on the phone and tried to keep his voice calm. “What’s the matter? Are you ok? What happened?”  
Roger let out a choked sob. “I’ve never been less ok in my life! There I was, flipping through the channels on the telly, minding my own business. Just me and this glass of merlot; Judy went to tidy up the pottery shed. I don’t even know them, but I feel like they’re my best friends-”  
“Know who, Rog?”  
“Paul and Michelle of course, Mick!”

The drummer loosened his grip on the phone as he realized his band mate was quite intoxicated; nevertheless, he continued to humor him. He stepped into the parlor and motioned wildly for his wife to join him so they could listen to Roger’s drunken ramblings together, as he had a feeling this was going to be a good one. “Lindy!” he whispered as loudly as possible, “Come ‘ere!” He cleared his throat. “Who the bloody hell are Paul and Michelle?”  
“They’re these kids in this movie I found on TV! Paul is an English chap who becomes friends with the poor orphan French girl Michelle, and they fall in love and run away together.”  
“Are you talking about that awful film ‘Friends’? The one with the Elton John soundtrack?” He covered up the mouthpiece with the tea towel. _“Lindy!”_  
“YES, that one! I forgot how it ended ‘cause I had to take a piss, but it was so beautiful Nonk, they cared so much about each other despite being so different, and…”  
Nick had to turn the phone away from his face lest his friend hear him try his damnedest not to laugh. _“LINDY!”_ he hissed.

“…something so romantic in my entire _life._ Noke, I’m telling you; I feel like a changed man.” He heard a pause and then the disgusting sounds of someone blowing their nose came through the speaker. “We really should do another soundtrack, if that Elton can put out something so beautiful for a film so beautiful, certainly we can too! More wasn’t all that bad an experience now that I think about it. God, I’m so glad I managed to catch this channel; even though this film absolutely ruined me, I think it was a message from the heavens. I don’t even believe in Heaven. I just cannot _get over_ how far they managed to come after all they went through…”

Nick and Lindy stared at one another in bewilderment while Roger babbled on and on from the phone between them. She covered her mouth with her hand and snickered under her breath and he bit his lip to keep his amusement from leaving his throat. In that moment he chastised himself for not having a tape recorder handy right then; this was so uncharacteristic of Roger he wished he could capture it and listen to it over and over for the rest of his life. It amazed him how moved his friend was by half a movie he just happened to find on the television.  
“…and just, really beautiful overall, Nock. I think I might cry just thinking about it.”  
“Uh, right. How many glasses of wine have you had tonight, Rog?”  
There was another pause, then Lindy’s mouth fell open when he responded, “Um, I don’t know, I lost count after I finished the second bottle.”  
“Fucking hell! Go get a glass of water and make a sandwich or something.”  
“No thanks, I’m not hungry. I think I might head off to bed soon, though; Jude’s just come back in and I’m feeling right tuckered now.”  
“I would too, if I spent five minutes crying and talking nonstop about a shitty movie,” Lindy muttered quietly. Nick snorted. “Ok Roger, have a good night, then. And listen, if you’re too hungover to drive to the studio tomorrow, just ring me and I’ll come pick you up. We don’t need our bassist getting into a wreck just because he had a little too much fun the night before. Oh, and I’ll make sure to remind you to tell the others about this film too, ok?”

Silence answered him, and he looked at the receiver in confusion. “Rog? You still there? Hello?”  
Still nothing. He waited a moment more and heard a distant “Seriously?” and then a woman’s voice in his ear.  
“Hello, Nick? Are you there?”  
“Oh, hi Judy. How’s things?”  
“Just fine. Sorry, Roggie’s passed out on the couch with the phone on his chest. Poor fool’s drunk as a skunk and already snoring like nobody’s business. I hope he didn’t say anything terribly offensive; he’s gone through two and a half bottles of our best reds.”  
Lindy lost her composure and Nick chuckled. “Ah, I figured as much. Nothing too bad, just rang me to go off about some cheesy romance he caught on the telly.”  
“Oh yes, he’s a proper sap when he’s had too much to drink. Anyway, you take care now, I’m going to find a blanket for my incorrigible husband.”  
“Right, goodnight Jude.” As soon as he hung up, he joined his wife in unrestrained laughter.

~~~

The persistent ringing that dared to disturb his sleep drove him positively mad. “Who the _fuck_ is calling right now?!” he asked the night air. He was thankful that Judy had gone off to stay with some friends for the weekend because, already a light sleeper, she would have thrown a fit about being awoken so loudly in the middle of the night. Roger reached blindly across the bed for the telephone, fumbling around in the dark for the apparatus and pressing it angrily to his ear. He rubbed his eyes aggressively as he threatened, with no regard to whoever his audience could be, “You better have a _bloody good reason_ for waking me up at this hour.”

“Roger! I am _soooo_ glad to hear your voice right now! Can’t even begin to tell you how many times I misdialed to get to you.”  
The unmistakable sound of his drunk friend’s voice filled him with rage. He squinted through the dark to read his watch in a patch of moonlight, then let out a shriek of despair into the phone. “It’s 3:30 in the _blessed_ A.M.! You had best be either dead or dying right now, David, or I’m going to wring your neck the next time I see you.”  
An offended scoff was his reply. “Not unless I do yours _first._ I’m _very_ cross with you, mister Waters. I _still_ can’t believe you had the _nerve_ today to come up to me and tell me _to my face_ that you were going to put Return of the Son of Nothing on the _B side_ of the record! How _insulting!”_

Roger found the excessive emphasis on his words rather amusing. “That’s not even how it happened, Dave, and we agreed-”  
_“Don’t_ call me Dave!”  
“Excuse me. Da _vid,_ we agreed as a band that it would be best to put it on the second half this time because on Atom Heart Mother-” he shivered just thinking about the embarrassing album “-the title track went first.”  
“Well, _I_ think it’s good enough to be at the front. This just might be our best track yet!”  
Roger groaned. “Go to bed. You’re drunk.”  
“Listen here, _Geooooorge.”_ He drew out the bassist’s given name in an attempted mocking tone. “I didn’t spend the better part of 25 minutes nearly getting my finger stuck in the dial… wheel… thing just to have you brush me off like this.”  
“HA! It took you almost half an hour to get the number right?”  
“Don’t change the subject! I’m not through here!” Roger thought he could hear another voice in the background egging his band mate on, but he couldn’t quite make it out. “I swear I’m gonna come over there and knock some sense into that inflated head of yours. Sure, maybe I’ve had a few. …Or several. But don’t think I won’t make good on that promise!” This time, he was sure someone else was there because he could definitely hear a slurred “Go get ‘im, mate!”

“Who’s there with you? Is that Emo? Put him on the phone.”  
“You leave him out of this, I’m talking to _you.”_  
“Give him the phone before I kick you out of the band, you alcoholic git.” There were a lot of fumbling noises and muffled complaining before a new voice in his ear said, cheerfully and much too loudly, “Hullo Roggah. David’s giving you quite a thrashing there, eh?”  
Roger was seconds away from hanging up on the two of them, and why he hadn’t already was beyond him. “Shut up, Emo. Are you responsible for this?”  
“Only thing ‘m responsible for is bringing the Stout over. Pretty boy here got ‘imself all OW fuck you too man worked up over some shit he said happened earlier today.”  
The musician pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and exhaled for several seconds, squeezing his eyes shut. He had never wanted to talk to someone sober more than he did at that very moment. Of course, he’d much rather prefer to not talk to anyone at all before it was even dawn.

“Thank you so much for your phone call. I’m going to go back to sleep now, and you tell David that if he ever calls me in the middle of the night again, I’ll personally drive to his flat and break his face.”  
And with that, before Emo could stop laughing enough to respond, he slammed the receiver back where it belonged and rolled over onto his side of the mattress. No matter how hard he tried, despite how miffed he was about his slumber being interrupted for something so trivial, he couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face as he went back over the conversation in his head. There was no way David was living this one down for a good, long while.

~~~

Richard could hear the sound of the phone ringing through the walls of his house as he approached the front door, turning his casual stride into a run. He knew he should have ignored his midnight hunger and stayed in, but the weed he had been smoking had grabbed hold of his better judgment. “Shit,” he whispered as his wax papered sandwich fell to the ground, while he fumbled as quickly as possible for his key. He hoped the telephone hadn’t been ringing for too long. Grabbing his food and swinging the door closed with his foot, he took off in the direction of the noise. Just a touch out of breath, he picked up the receiver. “So sorry, I just got in. This is Richard.”  
“It is, isn’t it? Why?”  
“…Sorry, what?”  
“Y’know, we always call you either Richard or Rick. Why is that? There’s other names, you know.”  
“Is that you, Nick? What are you talking about?” The coiled telephone cord became almost straight as he walked over to the other side of the kitchen and picked up his rolling papers.  
“See, there isn’t as much to _do_ with ‘Nicholas’ then. ‘Nick’ and ‘Nicky’ are just about all I get, but you have so much potential. Ya lucky bastard.” The insult was punctuated by a soft _thud._  
“What was that?”  
“…I fell off the couch.”

Richard laughed gently at his friend. Cradling the phone on his shoulder, he finished rolling a cigarette and ran his tongue over the edge of the paper to seal it. “Did you get drunk and call me just to talk about my name?”  
_“No,_ I called you to talk about your nickname. Hey, what if Rick was short for Richolas?” The guffaws coming from the earpiece were so loud the keyboardist almost dropped it in surprise. He lit the tobacco and took a much-needed drag as Nick suddenly stopped laughing in a very abrupt change of tone. “I’m gonna come up with a new nickname for you. A Rickname. Lessee, there’s Ricky…”  
Richard coughed. “Uh, no.”  
“Rickums?”  
“No thanks.”  
“Rich?”  
“No.”  
“Richie?”  
“Nope.”  
“…Dick?!”  
_“NO.”_  
The line was silent for a moment, then: “I’m gonna call you Dick.”  
Entertaining to talk to when sober, drunken Nick was something else altogether. Richard tried to sound as stern as he could and hoped his smile wouldn’t betray his voice. “Please don’t, Nick, you know how much I hate that.”  
“Well you need _some_ kind of new name. It gets boring after a while. Plus, Dick is funny. Especially since your middle name is William. Dick Willy. DICK WILLY!” It sounded like Nick was almost crying with laughter. And really, he probably was.

The phone slipped a bit down his shoulder and Richard almost dropped it in alarm. “Nick, I swear…”  
“DICK WILLYAHAHAH!”  
He couldn’t help himself but chuckle a bit, being careful not to let the other party hear. The homemade cigarette burned silently between his fingers. “If I let you call me Ricky, will you stop this nonsense?”  
“Ok, ok, fine. I s’pose I can live with that.”  
Feeling a bit cheeky, and still rather relaxed from the drugs a couple hours earlier, he decided to indulge Nick’s drunk antics. “And what about you? I’ve been calling you Nick since uni now. Can’t remember the last time I referred to you by your full name. Don’t you need a new one, too?”  
He swore he could _hear_ Nick shrug, somehow. “Yeah, but I told you _Ricky,_ there’s no other options. ‘St. Nicholas’ just doesn’t seem like a realistic choice, you know?”  
_This whole conversation isn’t realistic,_ Richard thought to himself as he laughed. He blew the smoke from his lungs. “Well, what if Nick were short for Nichard?”  
“Oh my GOD, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Nick was giggling so hard and uttering random nonsense words between gasps for air, “Ricky” thought for a moment he would never recover. He felt like a teenage schoolgirl gossiping with one of her classmates about anything and everything while lying on a pink quilt-covered bed and twirling her hair around with a pencil. And yet, this was one of the most entertaining conversations he’d probably had in years. So entertaining, in fact, that he set Nick’s hilarity down on the table and poured himself a small glass of sparkling rosé, topping it off with a splash of gin, all the while shaking his head but unable to keep himself from smiling. The drummer was still going by the time he sat himself down again and returned the phone to his shoulder; Richard could picture him rolling around on the floor with his hands gripping his sides, breathless from laughter.  
“Nick?”  
“YEAH.”  
“Listen, I know you’re not going to remember this tomorrow, but I’m glad you called. I don’t believe we’ve had this much fun in ages.” Taking a swig of his favorite cocktail, he realized how much he meant it.  
A loud gasp. “Awwww, Rickyyy, that’s the _sweetest_ thing anybody’s ever told me! You’re the best friend anybody could ever have, you know that? You are just _so_ nice and funny and… and…”  
“Jesus, Nick, don’t cry!”  
“I’M NOT CRYING.” The ugly half-sob that followed betrayed his statement.  
“If you say so.”  
Richard finished the drink and extinguished his cigarette. “Well, it’s getting a bit late, so I’ll be going now. Don’t drink too much, alright?” He suspected his friend was probably already past that point, though.  
“Ok Ricky. I love you, man.”  
He stifled a laugh. “Love you too, Nick. G’night.”

After hanging up the phone and finally unwrapping his forgotten sandwich, he made a mental note to himself to suggest the band go out for drinks at the end of the week. 

~~~

Richard had been so engrossed in the television program Juliette had recommended he’d watch that he jumped when the telephone rang next to him. Blinking his eyes for a moment, he returned his gaze to the screen as he reached over and lifted the phone from its base.  
“Hello?”  
He failed to notice the faint snickering coming from the other party, then possibly another voice shushing someone. It then cleared its throat into his ear.

“Good evening, my good sir. I live in the flat across from yours and my electricity just fuc- er, _bloody_ went dark for a few minutes. I was wondering if anything similar had happened to you as well?”  
“No, everything’s fine, I’ve been watching a TV show.” He could have been mistaken, but he thought the voice sounded just the slightest bit familiar. His attention to the program he was watching started shifting more to the conversation he was having.  
“Pity, _my_ telly and icebox are both shorted out.” There was the briefest of pauses, then, “Is your refrigerator running?”  
“Yes, I believe so.” Suddenly there were _two_ people trying desperately not to laugh, and he sat up abruptly at what he had just said. “Wait a minute-!”  
The unmistakable voice of Syd now laughed out from across the line. “Well, then, _you had better go catch it!”_ Richard heard him fall into an uncontrollable bout of hysterics while someone else made a whine of protest.  
“Damn it, I wanted to say it!”  
“OUCH! Cripes, sorry Rog.”  
“Are you two serious right now?”  
“Fuck’s sake, Syd, hang up! He can _*hic*_ still hear us!”  
“Well, then tell the bloody phone to stop spinning so I can put it down!”

“God almighty…” Richard muttered, then silenced the bickering pair on his own before returning to his previously interrupted activity.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit - and it is incredibly rare for me to praise my own work - I feel like this is probably one of, if not THE best things I've ever written  
> Partly inspired by Roger's recent video complaining that David and PF have basically erased him from band history. I reblogged a headline about it and I tagged it with "Why can't you just drunk dial David instead of doing shit like this" and at that very moment the idea was born
> 
> In case it wasn't really apparent, these are all separate occasions that happened on different nights, I just grouped them all together in one piece. Bonus Syd at the end because I wanted to get him in on the fun too but these all take place somewhere around 1970-1ish. Except for the Syd story which can be set basically any time before 1967 idc lmao I didn't have a specific year in mind
> 
> This was incredibly fun to do, and I actually had to do some REAL RESEARCH to be able to finish it, which is unusual. Shoutout to the PF themed Discord I'm in for giving me ideas and helping me out through this :3


End file.
